Leaving Gomorrah: book 3 of trilogy (excerpt)​Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and all booksellers worldwide-- And on e-books.

CHAPTER 1

She would have to die that way. Holding that damn bag in her hand. They said she had been sitting there for almost a week. Just sitting there with her eyes open, holding onto that damn bag.

They asked him if he wanted it, and he almost said no. But something wouldn’t let him get rid of it. Now it sat somewhere at the bottom of his suitcase - a bag containing his baby hair, nail clippings and three small pebbles that once was his feces, dried in the sun, now just small pebbles.

He looked at his father, who sat across from him swaying as the train rushed through the tunnels, a slight look of confusion crossing his eyes.

Antonio always knew he would meet his father one day because she had told him he would. Some nights she would sit by his bed and tell him stories about his father and that one day he would return. She never told him who his father was and where he had gone, but he guessed it was someplace where his father had no choice because if he was as good a man as his mother had said, he wouldn’t have left him in such a fucked up place. Maybe the house he grew up in wouldn’t have been so full of sadness and maybe the insanity that gripped his mother wouldn’t have happened.

Eventually, as the years passed and days wandered with no apparent end, he gave up ever seeing his father until a few years ago when his mother called him and told him his father had returned. And with that done, she closed herself back into the darkness of the small house - her life complete - while he moved away with the man he waited so long for. Now she was gone and he was living with the man who appeared before him every night just before he went off to sleep.

The train pulled into the Atlantic Avenue station and he and his father got off. They had gone back to Cincinnati to attend his mother's funeral. It had been a small gathering of people at the funeral, but it was complete. Very clear, very said-and-done because anything anyone ever thought about his mother had been set. She lived with abandon and she died alone.

After they put his mother in the ground he and his father collected a few photos and the small bag, and they returned to New York City.

They walked through the train station and made their way out into the busy daylight of Brooklyn and walked the few blocks to their apartment. Neither one of them had spoken much about the old woman because it was so hard to put her life in words, and even more difficult was putting all their lives together in one salient thought.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” his father said. “Let’s stop off and pick something up.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You sure? You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You go ahead.”

His father looked at him for a second. “Alright, I’ll be home in a little bit.”

“Okay.” He walked away without looking back at his father, yet he could feel his father’s eyes on him. It had been that way since he moved in with him. His father was always watching him.

Antonio lugged his suitcase up the four flights to the apartment and went inside. He had told the guy he would meet him around seven, so he rushed back out to catch the train over to Union Square.

Sitting on a bench, he watched people passing by. He wondered how so many of them could have so much to smile about. He didn’t hate them for it, he only wondered.

A man fitting the description of the man he was waiting for walked close to the bench, causing Antonio to sit up straight, but it wasn’t him. The man gave a curious glance and continued across the street.

Eventually, another man came towards the bench. Antonio watched him as he approached. Five-eleven; dark curly hair; jeans and green and yellow tennis shoes. He couldn’t see if his eyes were hazel since the man was too far away.

As the man approached he caught sight of Antonio, then, slowing, he came up to the bench. “Antonio?”

Antonio stood up. “Yeah.”

The man smiled. “Julian.”

The two of them walked across the park and down a street.

An hour later, Antonio stood at the bathroom sink, washing himself. The man came in and stood beside him. “God…” He smiled as he watched Antonio’s dick.

Antonio grinned. “You make a lot of noise. You know that?”

“I’m just glad my roommate wasn’t here.”

“What’s he about?”

“It’s a she.”

“What’s she about?”

“Everything. Like me.”

“So y’all cool like that? She gay?”

“Not really. She does the lesbian thing every once in a while, but not really.”

“Think she would be into me?”

Julian laughed. “God yeah,” he said as he palmed Antonio’s dick. “Hell yeah.”

“Maybe next time.”

After he got dressed, the man gave him the other half of the money.

“Thanks,” Antonio said.

“No. Thank you,” Julian replied as he leaned up to kiss Antonio.

Antonio pulled back, “Nah, I don’t do that.”

Julian shrunk away. “Okay.”

“You got my number. Call me when you feel like it.”

“I will.”

Leaving Union Square, he headed uptown and got off on 135th Street, then walked a few blocks over to the apartment of two friends: LaVonte and Kamon. He rang the buzzer, announced himself and walked up to the apartment.

Kamon looked at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “A'ight, a'ight. Come on, let's head out,” he said as he slapped Antonio's back.

They headed back down to 34th Street where LaVonte was waiting nearby for them in Herald Square. He sat with his face away from them watching the streets.

Kamon and Antonio nudged each other and crept up beside him.

Grinning, Kamon leaned down. “Whatchou doin’, bitch?” he demanded.

LaVonte jumped up, his crippled legs almost causing him to fall backwards. Antonio and Kamon howled at how frightened he was.

“Damn, man!” he exclaimed. “Don’t be doin’ no shit like that!”

Kamon and Antonio continued to laugh.

“Where the fuck you been?” LaVonte asked as he held onto the bench to steady himself. “I been waitin’ here almost half an hour.”

“Stop whining. We got all night.”

“No we don’t. Me and Tonio gotta get up for work tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Antonio agreed. “So let’s get goin’.”

The three of them walked back over to 34th Street with Antonio and Kamon pacing themselves so LaVonte could keep up. They grabbed a bite to eat.

The night was warm and sticky.

Antonio sat eating a slice of pizza and watched the rush and flow of midtown. Even after almost three years, the constant movement of people, cars and lights still amazed him. Taking one last draw from his cola, he stood. “Let’s go. We got a lot to do.” And the three young men headed out into the night.

CHAPTER 2

Otis sat out on the dock and finished lunch with some of his co-workers. The dampness and the summer heat rested on the city like a sleeping animal and made it difficult to breathe. “Okay, why are we sittin' out here when we could be in air conditioning?” He asked.

“Just let me finish my cigarette,” Linda said.

“It's hot as fuck out here and you got us out here sittin' in all this heat while you smoke a damn cigarette.” Steven bucked his eyes as he leaned towards her.

“Look, I gotta have a cigarette after I eat. It's the way I do things.”

“Shit. Well do it by yourself, lady,” Luis said. “I'm goin' in.”

The others agreed and got up to go back into the warehouse.

Otis' phone rang and he answered. It was Emory.

“Hey, you still with the others?”

“Yeah.”

“Well don't say my name. I just wanted to catch you before you went back from your lunch break.”

“Yeah, it is about that time.”

“We still meeting up for dinner this evening?”

“Still on.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you at the restaurant. I have to stay a little bit late and get some things done here.”

“Alright.”

“But I'll meet you there.”

“Alright.” Otis hung up and shook his head as he walked back into the warehouse.

After work Otis was just about to go down into the subway when he saw Emory coming his way.

“Ready to go,” Emory said, smiling and rubbing his hands together.

“That was quick. I thought you were staying late?”

“I had to make it quick so I could spend time with you,” Emory said. He looked around. “Come on.” He hurried Otis down the stairs to the station.

“So… How is it going with you and your son?” Emory asked. They were seated near the back of the restaurant because Emory said it always felt as if he were on display when he sat near the window.

“Okay,” Otis said. “We got a few kinks to work out but it’s okay. He seems to be settled. Made some friends.”

“That’s good. This isn’t a place to make quick friends. I guess he’s an extrovert like his ol’ man, huh?”

“I guess you can say that. I’m still getting to know him.”

“After three years?”

“Yeah. He don't like to tell me things. Keeps a lot inside.”

“He's not in any trouble is he?”

“No. He just likes to keep some space for himself.”

“Like you.”

Otis laughed. “I guess so.”

Emory shook his head, “Man. That must be something. All those years and you find out you have a kid.”

“Yeah, it caught me off guard.”

“And a son. And you being… you know.”

Otis looked pathetically at Emory.

“Well, you know what I mean. So how is he handling it?” Emory glanced at the table nearby where a group of people sat.

“Fine. You seem to be making more of a deal of it than him,” Otis laughed.

Emory sat back. “Well, it is kinda different, you know.”

“Not really. A lot of gay folks have kids. Especially black gays.”

Cutting his eyes to the table on the other side, Emory picked up his glass and took a swallow. “Still…”

After dinner the two of them went to a bar at Emory’s urging. Otis knew what was up but he went along anyway. They sat at the end of the bar, away from the other patrons.

“You know, I’m glad you came back,” Emory said. “For a while there I thought, ‘shit, he’s home now. Probably gonna stay there.’ And I was resigned to that.”

Otis sipped his drink then set it on the bar. “Nah. Cincinnati’s not home anymore. I got a lot of love for it, but it can never be home again.”

“Too many memories, huh.”

“It’s just not home. It was the place for me when I was a boy, but not as a man.”

“I can understand that. All the shit you went through,” Emory said as he put his glass to his mouth and took a drink. “How was it seeing all those people again after, what, twenty years?”

“A little more than that,” Otis said. “It was strange more than anything. At first I was nervous. I was like, ‘what the fuck am I supposed to do? After all those years, what the fuck am I supposed to do?’ But I knew we had to talk. All of us.”

“Yeah,” Emory said as he nodded his head. He paused a bit before continuing. “What about your friend? How did you feel when you saw him? I bet a lot of old feelings surfaced, huh.”

“A little. But shit, all that went away once we started hashing things out.”

“I thought he might win you over again,” Emory said as he stirred his drink. “End up keeping you there with him.”

Otis shook his head. “Uh uh.”

“Well I’m glad you came back,” Emory said. He looked deep into Otis's eyes before glancing at the table near them, then away.

They walked to the train station. Otis was just about to start down the stairs when Emory stopped him.

“Are you glad you came back?”

Otis looked at him for a quick second before answering, “Yeah. This city was the only place that would take me. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said before turning back down the stairs.

Otis called out to Antonio as he came through the door that evening. There was no reply, so he went to his son’s bedroom and knocked on the door. “Antonio, you up?” Still there was no reply. He opened the door and saw he hadn’t come in yet. He closed the door back and went in to take a shower.

Standing under the spray he let the water roll over him. He told Emory his son had some things to work out, but he didn’t tell the whole story.

He thought about his son selling his body. He remembered how he found out. It had been during an argument at the house of a man who owed Antonio money. At first Otis was confused as he stood in the middle of the fight. He heard the man and Antonio yelling at each other, but the meaning of their words wasn’t clear. It wasn’t until after a few seconds that his head cleared and the words sank in. The man said, “I gave you what I always give you,” and “You didn’t do any more than you usually do,” and it was the look on the man’s face as he made the statements that hit home because it was a face Otis had seen many times. It was clear. The life Otis had struggled so hard to leave behind had found the son he never knew. He and Antonio talked about what happened that night and it was during that conversation that Otis told him he was gay.

Antonio had looked down at the ground after his father told him, and a wry smile crossed his face. To him it was nothing more than another slice of irony. He and his father both fucked men and that’s all there was to it. He was used to having unusual things in his life.

Otis had asked Antonio if he was gay and Antonio told him he wasn't. He said hustling was just something he did. But he said it was okay that Otis was gay. Before they left for New York, Antonio promised Otis he would get out of the life, but sometimes Otis wondered if he really had.

For Otis, hustling had been about survival. After prison he found himself in New York City, too ashamed to return home. But making it in The Apple was hard, especially for a black ex-con. After landing there, he spent the first few weeks sitting in his room at the Y looking through want ads and looking for work. Finally, after running out of the few dollars he had managed to save, and after losing his room, he ended up on the streets.

But there was one thing he had figured out once he hit the city, and that was: even though it was hard for an ex-con to find a job, a young black man with a hard body and big dick could make money. And the fact that he was ruggedly handsome made it easy for him to get over just to buy food and time until he got on his feet. That was what he knew happened to him many years ago.

But he couldn't understand why his son had gotten into the game.

Sometimes he found himself studying Antonio, trying to glean what he could about the stranger who was his son, but it was difficult because Antonio moved in such furtive ways, as if he knew that if he were discovered he might lose something. But what, Otis couldn’t figure it out.

Later that night he heard Antonio come in. Otis sat in bed reading a book. Antonio knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” Antonio greeted as he stepped into the room.

“You just getting in?”

“Yeah. I worked a double shift, so I helped ‘em close up.”

“There’s some dinner in the oven.”

“Okay. I’ll have it for breakfast. I’ve been eatin’ all day.”

Antonio started to close the door.

“Antonio.”

“Yeah.”

“Man, don’t work so hard. Everything is fine.”

“Okay,” Antonio said, and closed the door.

****

The knock at the door was sudden, breaking the silence of the house and causing the boy to jump up, knocking over his toys. It came again, loud and threatening. The boy felt his heart pounding in his chest as he stood in the middle of the room looking around for his mother, but she wasn’t there. Quickly he gathered up his toys and any trace he might leave behind and quietly went to his room. It was what he had been taught to do. He slid beneath his bed and down onto the floor where he continued to crawl until he came to the house underground. Once there, he tucked his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth, waiting for his mother to return.

The sun crept through the window and beyond the curtains, waking Antonio from a heavy sleep. Morning had come too soon. He turned in bed, pushing what was left of the dream from his head.

As the dream faded, his thoughts moved to his mother. It didn’t seem as if she had died. At times he could still feel her standing near and he could smell her fragrance, a scent that always reminded him of the sweet peas she always cooked. He didn’t deny that she had passed on, but there simply was no sense of loss and he knew why: because she wasn’t gone. She would never leave.

In his mind he saw the house they had lived in. It was dark because his mother always kept it in shadows. The curtains were always drawn. He remembered sometimes standing in front of the windows, listening to the world outside - the sound of cars rolling by, the laughter of children - and he would imagine what the world looked like. He wondered how the cars looked and how the laughter looked on the faces of the children, but he was afraid to look through the blinds. He had learned not to.

One day, he heard someone playing a radio. The music that came from it was different, like someone talking in rhymes over jagged rhythms. It was something he’d never heard before. Walking to the window, he lowered one of the slats of the dusty old blinds and peered out. His mother had been in the kitchen doing laundry, and when she saw him looking out the window, she yelled and rushed into the room where she snatched him away and beat him. He remembered how, with each blow, she screamed that they would never take him from her.

Rolling to his feet, Antonio went to the bathroom and began to get ready for work.